


that one time Bruce Wayne stripped for charity

by completist



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU
Genre: M/M, Stripping, burnt breakfast courtesy of bruce wayne stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completist/pseuds/completist
Summary: that one time Bruce Wayne stripped for charity and got the world's strongest hero as his boyfriend.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 290
Collections: DC Universe





	that one time Bruce Wayne stripped for charity

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, but I hope you enjoy! This has been sitting in my drafts for a long, long time already 🤧 and I thought I'd finish it while taking a break from writing my srb and other fics! 
> 
> hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/completist_) and [tumblr](http://queen---queer.tumblr.com/)!

“It’s—” Barry swallows, blinking rapidly at the huge screen on the Watchtower cafeteria— 

Clark tries to look around, anywhere but the screen as he attempts to stop fidgeting in his seat, face slowly turning beet red—

“I am not following,” Diana admits, narrowed eyes staring intently at the screen, her thumb slowly and repeatedly gliding along the lasso on her hips, “It is for charity.”

Arthur continued drumming his fingers on the table, following the quick beats of the music, “It is hot.”

Leaning forward, Hal rests his chin on his palm, smirking, “I can’t believe Spooky has a Magic Mike moment.”

“Please don’t.” Clark begs, his voice sounding choked as he speaks for the first time since the video played.

Victor unhelpfully turns the volume up.

The thing is, Clark likes the beginning of the video more than he should. 

Although he feels like only a few people would share his sentiment, he is fully aware that most would prefer the latter half of the recording. He'd stay in this little island of his and bask in delight at the voice lulling him.

The video began like any other formal video of Bruce Wayne you'd see. Not the controversial - and what journalists would argue as typical - one with the lopsided grin, messy tie and top two buttons of a tight shirt open. Rather, this one began with an air of unspeakable elegance, the one with sharp lines of a tailored suit, brushed up hair accentuated by the grays on his temple, a small smile and a piercing hazel gaze.

A mellow voice introduces Bruce Wayne as the billionaire, philanthropist and the most eligible bachelor of Gotham and an appreciative audience follows with their applause; if you're watching as closely as Clark, and if you're like the man as Clark thinks he is, you can actually see the miniscule change in his demeanor. Clark listens and watches in his periphery, his breakfast still half-cooked. He didn't give the news and rumors that accompanied the video much thought, already knowing that whatever embarrassing or controversial thing Bruce does in public is merely done to keep up appearances.

Bruce's voice could easily lul him to sleep, Clark thinks; the deep baritone serenading its audience. Slowly, the jacket is shed and thrown, a small hip movement enticing all eyes in the crowd. Leaning on the counter, breakfast completely ignored, Clark watches as Bruce's tie comes off next and another voice announces its cost. The chorus of the song never comes on as Bruce hands his tie off to a random woman, kissing the back of her hand, and dragging his along the length of the tie. It's outrageously the most flirtatious way of handing an item over to its buyer.

Clark frowns.

The egg he's cooking burning to a toasted one beside him.

Then Bruce completely gives the singing up, and Clark can't help but feel slightly disappointed. Some music comes on and Clark is definitely sure it's supposed to be seductive; as if the man onstage still needs the additional power-up.

The belt comes next, and Clark should really cover his eyes now. Bruce's smirk makes the crowd of men and women go wild, his hand skimming down his chest to the front of his pants. The buckle loosens, and Bruce walks to sit on the edge of the stage. The voice comes on again, announcing the price of Bruce's belt and really, Clark knows the man owns expensive clothing and stuff but this is ridiculous. 

The bidding continues as Bruce slowly, slowly, slowly pulls the belt out of its loops only to wind it around his arms and flex. The tight white shirt accentuating the movements of his muscles, the lighting in the stage slightly dims and Bruce smiles at the man approaching him. He extends his hand and allows the buckle to fall into the other's hand, only to pull him close by the hold, and unwound it as the man stands between his legs. The crowd goes wild again, and Clark realizes he's been holding his breath for quite a while.

And then Bruce is standing up—slow and languid—not taking his eyes off of the man until he's standing on his full height. He turns his back to the crowd and the cameras, and Clark gulps at the sight. The line of Bruce's broad shoulders, tapering to a slim waist, the tight fit of his pants on his ass and thighs, the muscles of his back shifting as he raises a hand to his collar; and then the voice announces the price of Bruce's shirt. Clark's eyes is glued to the screen, watching in rapt attention as Bruce's hand moves, the shirt evidently loosening at every movement. The price rises as Bruce removes his cufflinks and pockets them. It rises even more as the light begins to dim and Bruce turns to the crowd before shedding the item off, showing off his pecs and defined stomach as the light dims further—giving a slight hint at the v of his hips. The voices in the crowd demanding for the lights to brighten.

Clark is aware that Bruce has a funny story or two for each scar littering his body. But the scars from a burn might be too difficult, might hit too close to home. Sighing, Clark relaxes as the light illuminating Bruce is just enough to hint at everything, and not showing anything at once. The shirt falls, catching on his wrists, and when the bidding closes, sheds the shirt completely.

A woman walks up to the stage to claim her prize, the light dims even more as Bruce meets her. Their silhouette melding as one when Bruce hands the clothing to her, lowering his head to speak; probably whispering something directly to her hear. Clark frowns.

The exchange ends with Bruce stalking back to the microphone, "Did you like the show?"

Clark turns so fast, his neck made a loud crack; Bruce gives a small flinch at the sound, stepping a little closer.

"Br—" Clark stutters, suddenly aware of his half-nakedness among... other things. "Bruce."

"Clark."

"Bruce."

"Clark."

"Bruce, what—"

"Your eggs are burning." Bruce says, tilting his head to the pan on Clark's side. "Clark."

Clark's eyes widens, hastily picking the pan off of the stove and turning it off. He dumps the thing on the dishwasher, and begins scrubbing his breakfast, hyper-aware of Bruce striding towards the remote and turning the television off.

Feeling Bruce standing close behind him, Clark turns the water off and grabs a towel to dry his hands, stalling the inevitable act of facing his comrade? Enemy turned ally? Friend? Best friend? Someone he'd probably take a bullet for even if it won't affect him? Someone he's been dancing around with for months? Dare he say, cru—

"You must be wondering how I got in."

Clark swallows, suddenly feeling guilty that he wasn't wondering about that at all. He turns to face Bruce and he really, really hopes he wasn't blushing madly.

"Uh, yeah." Clark replies, his voice barely above a whisper, "I mean, yes! But you know, I mean— you're you know—" He gestures wildly between them, his gaze flickering towards the television that was apparently only muted, and consequently to Bruce on the television who is donning a black robe. He barely catches a glimpse of those bare, thick thighs. "Yes."

"Yes?" Bruce prompts, and Clark really, really wants to wipe the amusement off of his face.

"Yes, I'm wondering."

"I was prepared to pick the lock." Bruce begins, hiding his hands in his pockets. And Clark hates how that simple act makes him look even more nonchalant about the whole thing than what was strictly necessary. "But your door was unlocked."

"What?!"

"Your door was unlocked."

"Unbelievable."

Bruce chuckles, looking at his feet and hiding his smile. "Don't worry, I already looked through the CCTV along the corridor. Seems like you missed it when you grabbed grocery in the morning."

"Oh."

"Yes," Bruce smiles, extending his hand. "Breakfast?"

Clark looks at the hand, and then to Bruce's face and the way the streaming sunlight illuminates his features and the hazel of his eyes. "Sure." 

Accepting the hand offered to him, Clark saw the flicker of disappointment in Bruce's eyes when he dropped it again. 

"Let me just—" He gestures to the general direction of the bathroom and disappears in a gust of wind. Bruce huffs, walking to the table and leaning against it. He unmutes the television and absently listens to the pleasantries. Clark takes a quick shower, then ruffles through his clothes to look for decent ones. He can't trust Bruce not to take him in a five-star restaurant for breakfast. One time, when they just returned from a mission and he got invited for lunch, Bruce took them to a diner serving the best burgers in Gotham. And then they got served with the tastiest burgers he ever had, along with a napkin, and a pair of knives and fork to use.

He stops in front of Bruce, panting slightly. Clark dressed himself in his usual work clothes—but not plaid this time. The white shirt is a bit of a tight fit on him—probably because the last time he used it was four months ago—the pants were a good fit though.

"I'm ready."

"Nice socks." Bruce tells him before walking towards the door. Their hands brushed against each other.

Clark closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Please please please do not let him wear the socks that Barry gave him last Christmas.

Sneaking a peek through one eye, Clark barely sees the blue and red logo mixed with yellow and black on his socks before Bruce is pulling him towards the door and out of the apartment. He smiles, feeling like he could fly high with Bruce's hand holding his. But finds that he probably can't, he won't hear the end of it from Bruce if he does that.

They got into Bruce's car that still smells new. Clark looks around the vehicle, noting the impressive and clean dashboard. "Is this car new?"

Bruce just hums beside him, driving out of the parking lot of Clark's apartment. "Not really."

"I'm pretty sure a car like this from such a renowned brand will make news once it comes out..." Clark recalls, skimming his hand on the controls by the gear shift. Bruce takes his hand and holds it between them.

Clark turns to him with wide eyes, and then blinks at their hands. "Bruce?"

"Fine. I got it last week." His eyes are on the road as he slowly traces circles on the back of Clark's hand. "It's set to come out next month."

"Next month?!"

The light turns red, and Bruce smirks at him, "Next month. It's a complimentary gift for doing what you've been watching earlier instead of making breakfast."

Clark feels his ears burning and he's pretty sure the blush is already creeping up from his neck and into his cheeks. Why the hell is he acting like a teenager watching porn? He was just watching Bruce sing, and strip for charity. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing! And besides, it's your fault for doing that anyway."

"My bad, Clark." Bruce is indulging him, he's sure of that. "My apologies. In fact, why don't I give you a private show as proof of my sincerity."

"The light is green, Bruce."

"So? What do you think?"

"I think you should start driving."

Bruce drives. The question left hanging between them. 

"How much did you even earned from that?

"Hm? From last night's strip show?"

Clark turns to look by the window on his right. A moment passed, and another before Clark nods and gives a whispered, "Yeah."

"A little more than a million."

"Just from your clothes?"

"I think they were also in it for the strip show," Bruce shrugs. "But then, I'm not going to remove my boxers in front of vultures."

He finds it hard to stop the laughter bubbling in his chest at the imagery, so Clark just laughs. Imagining the disappointment in their faces when Bruce wore that robe before removing his boxers and giving it to whoever paid an insane amount of money for something that Bruce Wayne, Gotham's most eligible bachelor, have won. That, and also because Bruce is still holding his hand. Yeah. That.

"They're gonna eat you alive, huh?"

"Maybe I should eat you."

"What?"

"Nothing. We're here."

They were in another burger joint, and Clark really hopes Bruce isn't going to demand to eat daintily using a knife and fork in a place like this. Clark accepts the hand offered to him.

He stops Bruce by tightening his hold on his hand. "Sure."

A frown. And Clark smiles, he has a feeling he's going to be allowed to wipe that frown with a kiss some time soon.

"Sure?"

"Sure I'd like a private show tonight." He walks closer to Bruce, "Or maybe you don't have to make me wait until tonight."

"Do you still want to get breakfast?" Bruce smirks at him again, pulling him close by the arm around his waist.

Clark strains his hearing, and is really thankful there's no paparazzi around. 

"Unfortunately, yes."

**Author's Note:**

> Hal, to the new members of Justice League: and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how Spooky got himself a boyfriend.
> 
> /and that, is how Jordan nearly got kicked out of the league


End file.
